The Trouble with Sparks
by DragonSteel
Summary: Some things about sparks can't be measured or explained, Rung knows this better than most. (Rung/Red Alert)


Prompt from the kinkmeme: livejournal 10462. html /?thread=11463646&#t11463646

REQ: IDW (MTMTE )- Red Alert/Rung- washing, erotic massage as pain alleviation

Kinks: Sparkplay, comforting sex, slight size difference

Au from issue #6.

After being shot it takes Rung some time to recover. Red Alert offers a massage which turns into something else.

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Emotions. They were more than highly developed instincts. Much more than a sophisticated processor trying to make sense of a complicated and confusing environment. Some mechs claimed that personalities could be programmed, that memories of joy and pain could be erased with a simple coding wipe. It was true, that emotions could be influenced by coding; they could be buried or enhanced through the whims of a master of the technique, but you couldn't fabricate them out of nothing and you couldn't completely eradicate them either. A mech with their memory core entirely removed could still suffer flashbacks, and still hold feelings for friends and lovers, and enemies.

The spark was essential. Without it emotion meant nothing. A spark made a Transformer who they were. Rung didn't just believe this, he knew it with the surety of a scientist who had researched and theorized, had observed and questioned emotions and mechs his whole life. So when a sharp pain burst into life, arcing from above his right optic across the top of his cranium to its base where his neck cables were anchored, Rung resigned himself to another difficult night, ignoring the pain killers that Ratchet had pressed into his hand earlier.

The pain killers were nanites, highly advanced and designed to attach to and block pain receptors either throughout the body or in specific areas depending on their programming. With his condition they were little more than placebos. Ratchet had explained it as his sensor net glitching. Stated that it was common after a major injury and would eventually fade after his sensors had finished recalibrating. Ratchet had such a reputation; a living medical miracle in his own right, that the pain killers likely did help most of his patients. Faith could be a powerful influence on the spark. Rung, however, knew better. The problem wasn't with his sensors, it was with his spark.

Most of the directly effected sensors had been destroyed wholesale by the shot, and the ones that hadn't… they were just receptors. All they did was pass on and interpret signals; unless malfunctioning they had no way of generating a signal out of nothing. He had faith in Ratchet too, the medic would not have allowed him to leave if his receptors were malfunctioning. As for them needing recalibrating, well, Ratchet had lived his whole life reading symptoms and diagnostics and knowing exactly what had gone wrong when, where, and how. Rung could forgive him for telling little fibs to explain away things that couldn't be identified by physical medical science. Some mechs needed facts that they could see or touch and understand, but sparks couldn't be completely explained in a concrete scientific and quantifiable way, and in this case it was his spark that was the problem.

His spark was remembering fear and agony. Remembering decacycles spent in stasis as numerous pain signals and a half constructed skull went unheeded by a conscious processor. And after awakening, more discomfort and stress as Rung relearned how to work with a completely reconstructed optical sensory process. He had spent an entire orn just struggling to pick up a cube of energon without knocking it over. All this stress and pain for such an extended period of time, it was no surprise that his spark clenched both in remembrance of pain and half in expectation of more.

The spark and processor were directly connected and what one felt the other felt as well. Your body influenced your spark and your spark influenced your body. With a spark in pain the processor transmitted pain as well. Thus, the throbbing in his cranium. Another spike of pain stabbed behind his optics.

"Rung? Are you alright?" Swerve's normally brash voice asked hesitantly. Rung realized that he had raised his hand to press against the painful area, and he quickly lowered it, offering a small smile in apology. A quick, guilt stricken glance and Swerve shook himself and resumed his story of an amusing encounter that he had had the other orn.

Poor Swerve. He wasn't a good fighter; he had been little more than a grunt during the war. He had killed- they had all probably killed at some point or another- and he had seen comrades die, but he had never come so close to killing a mech he didn't consider an anonymous enemy. A mech that he had to look in the optics almost every orn. Whose friends and medics he had had to face when that mech was barely clinging to life.

Swerve wasn't an official patient of his; it would be difficult for him to work out issues with the therapist they were so closely tied to. But Rung did his best to show his forgiveness and acceptance, to ease Swerve's guilt. Part of that was to come to his bar often and speak with him for a few kliks.

This had the added bonus of looking over some of the rest of the crew. So many needed a therapist's help. Their bloody Civil War had gone on for far too long. Some mechs had never even known peace. But he couldn't help everyone. His head throbbed and ached. Some orns he could barely help himself.

"Rung," A gruff voice interrupted Swerve's running monologue and as Rung turned to see a large red and white form he felt his spark ease.

"Red Alert."

The tall mech eyed Swerve warily before blurting, "I need you to confirm some suspicious activity I've caught on the security cameras."

Rung's polite smile faltered for a moment before he forced it back up, and he turned back to Swerve, "Please excuse me, Swerve."

"Yeah, sure, suspicious activity. Sounds fun," the bartender cheerfully, if a little dubiously, replied.

To Rung's surprise Red Alert grabbed his hand and began pulling him through the crowded room. His spark energy, conducted through his metal body into his hand, brushed against Rung's own at their point of contact, calming his spark with the soothing gesture. Red Alert pushed past the rowdy mechs crowding the room, his head and optics constantly moving, checking for threats, for violent movements. Finally they reached the doorway, and the clamor receded behind them. Worn from the pain, Rung allowed the larger mech to guide him through the hallways and into the lift without thought, until he realized that they were descending, instead of lifting up.

"Red Alert? Are we going to your office?"

The red and white mech peered suspiciously into the corners of the lift before simply stating, "No."

"Where…" Rung struggled to gather his thoughts through the pain, "Where are we going?"

Red Alert cast a panicked glance at the ceiling and didn't reply. Instead, he shifted closer and pulsed more spark energy through their entwined hands. Rung's own spark eagerly curled around the familiar energy and pulsed back in reply.

Transformers needed another's touch. Not for the tactile sensation, but to feel another's spark energies welcoming and accepting their own. Sparks craved each other, naturally wanted to share emotion and thought. The highest form of ecstasy was spark bonding; entwining entirely with another spark, merging until they were inseparable. Of course, few mechs ever went so far as to bond permanently or temporarily with another mech. Most simply settled with shallow merges that were still enough to feel surface emotions and very pleasurable, but would not bind you together.

Part of Fortress Maximus' trauma had stemmed from being kept in isolation, and away from any friendly or soothing sparks for so long. His spark had begun to automatically rebuff any advances and it had taken Rung enveloping him inside his energies for him to reach out. If the shot had killed Rung, if Fortress Maximus had felt his spark wither away, it's possible that he would have never tried reaching out again. Thankfully, Rung had not died in his arms, and while the pain and shock had reached the large warrior, those were things that he already knew and understood intimately, and to finally be able to share them, even for a single nano-klik, eased his spark, made him see that there were others who could understand. Fortress Maximus still had a long recovery ahead of him, but in the end it had been a fortuitous, if unplanned, breakthrough.

He had heard rumors of soldiers who purposely extended their energies during combat to confuse and demoralize their enemies. He shuddered to think of the psychological toll such a tactic could have on both its user and its recipients. Extending your energies, your spark, toward someone who simultaneously rejected you and attempted to cause you physical harm. Or feeling someone extending welcome even as you caused them pain, possibly even feeling their presence fade and thrash in the death throes that you or a comrade had caused would be horrific. Your processor would explain it away as the death of an anonymous enemy, but the spark would see it as the death of one whose spark felt like a potential friend's. The potential for conflict and emotional trauma was enormous. Thankfully Rung had never encountered any mechs who had been put through that tactic, but still the rumors worried him.

There was a tugging on his hand and Rung realized that the lift had stopped. He stumbled after Red Alert, feeling dizzy and disoriented. His head throbbed to the rhythm of his steps as they thumped down the corridor.

They stopped in front of a door and he stared blankly as Red Alert entered the code. It rattled open, revealing, to his surprise, his own office. Red Alert immediately moved in, searching for bugs and traps. Relieved, Rung entered the familiar and comforting room. He stood in the middle, almost swaying and only half aware of Red Alert's puttering before he stood before him and spoke, "Go rest."

"Red Alert?"

"I've checked your room; it's safe."

"I… what?" Rung raised his hand to press against his helm. He could almost feel it pulsing against his fingertips.

Red Alert's large hands came down on his shoulders and began steering him toward the open door leading to his small room and berth. Too tired to protest Rung awkwardly clambered onto the metal slab and slumped down.

He could hear Red Alert moving things around in his office. He hated the clutter all his models created. Too many places to hide a camera or bug. He checked them all before every therapy session and now he checked them almost every night as well.

Rung's plating pressed into the cool flat surface of his berth. The position- on his stomach with his arm trapped underneath him- not comfortable, but he couldn't find it in himself to care enough to move. His spark energies retreated away from his extremities, preparing for recharge and defragging. As it did so his spark pulsed unhappily at the absence of Red Alert's warm presence and a fresh wave of pain swamped his sensors.

His helm ached and pounded rhythmically, and with his audial pressed against the berth he could hear his energon pumping to the same beat. He drifted, the room swaying, dancing to the beat of the drum inside his head. Half formed thoughts and memories drifted as his processor defragged and mulled through the events of the day. His awareness narrowed down to his berth, the wall it pressed against, and his form, limp and unmoving, yet pulsing to the steady rhythm. The rest of the room blurred to a dark and unfriendly gray pressing down and suffocating him.

The throbbing was cut through by a sudden lance of pain stabbing behind his optic. He whimpered, shifting, curling on his side, the movement interrupting the defrag procedure. The new position did not ease the pain, and he turned to his other side, plating scraping and clanging against the berth. Shuddering, he pressed his hands against his skull.

His optics onlined and immediately caught sight of Red Alert standing over him with a worried frown. The security mech had taken to watching over him since the… incident. Protecting him even- or rather, especially- during his recharge. The first time he had been so insistent and genuinely concerned- even frightened- for him that Rung could not bring up the energy to argue. He had gone to his berth reluctantly, dreading the awkwardness and eyes staring at him as he lay down. Instead, he had felt safe, protected by a friendly optic. Now Red Alert watched over him almost every time he recharged.

"Have you been hacked? Is it a virus?" Red Alert started to reach for him but hesitated, optics searching for signs of forced ports.

"N-no. My head…" Impulsively, he grasped the outstretched hand. "Can you help me to the washracks? I… maybe that would help."

"Yes. Would the one in my quarters suffice?"

"You have- ah, yes, I was hoping for an oil bath, if you don't mind."

The large mech simply nodded and helped Rung sit up. Rung followed the guidance Red Alert's steady hand provided, feeling awkward and clumsy as he stumbled off the berth and followed him into the hallway. His feet moved strangely and the walls swayed. He ran into Red Alert when he halted in front of the lift door.

In his peripheral vision he could see the other mech regarding him as they waited for the lift. When the doors finally opened Red Alert grasped his free hand with his other hand and gently guided him inside. Uncomfortably reminded of therapy sessions spent relearning how to walk, and yet also strangely reassured, Rung followed him like they were partners in a dance.

Now Red Alert's spark energy flowed in from both of his hands, distracting him from the pain as the lift moved upward. His optics offlined and he concentrated on the feeling of tender affection and worry curling around his outer spark tendrils.

Red Alert abruptly let go and Rung frowned, reaching for him again. The large mech swept him up into his arms. When the room stopped swaying he slumped down in relief, pressing close to the large and warm chest. This close to the spark much more spark energy could be conducted, and Rung unconsciously pressed his own chest closer to feel more of the other's spark. He was somewhat aware that they were moving, but kept his optics off, the headache beginning to fade. The pain slowly died down to a dull throb, echoing with the footsteps and movements gently shifting him back and forth.

It occurred to him that he should worry about another mech seeing them- seeing him- like this. It took effort to online his optics and raise his head, but the hallway was silent and empty. He let his head rest back against the red shoulder but kept his optics on and watched the grey ceiling with its equally grey walls and floor slowly drift by.

They stopped in front of one of the many featureless doors, and Red Alert shifted him carefully to one arm so that he could enter the code. It was… an abnormally long code. He must have modified it.

They entered a small berthroom. The berth was larger than Rung's, of course, but other than that and a single door the room was empty. They quickly moved through to the door, which opened into a fair sized washracks. To the front of the room were a couple of spray nozzles but behind them was a surprisingly large tub for soaking.

Red Alert gently set him down and moved to turn the nozzles inside the tub on. His spark tendrils waved in confusion, searching for the influx of energy which had abruptly stopped. Rung absentmindedly rubbed his chestplates, attempting to calm himself down. He stepped to the edge of the tub, watching the heated oil slowly rise. Small molecules precipitated in the heat and drifted up to tease his chemoreceptors. "This could fit two mechs of your size," he observed. Red Alert glanced up at him and Rung gave him an embarrassed smile.

"An indulgence. Our hundredth session you suggested that I find ways of relaxing before recharge since I had trouble shutting down for defragmenting. My processor does run much cleaner now."

He hadn't realized that Red had ever taken his advice, and his smile became more genuine as he said quietly, "I'm glad."

Red Alert responded with his own small, cautious smile. He was a handsome mech, when he wasn't angry or panicking.

For most of his patients it was easier for them not to see him as a person. It was best that they forgot that they were talking about their deepest, darkest fears and secrets to a stranger. He forced his patients to face themselves and accept or change what they saw. It would be easy to hate him, and if they thought of him as a person many would. So he made sure that he remained merely an instrument of change, and that they focused on themselves, not him.

However, there were a few, such as Red Alert or Fortress Maximus who needed to be able to trust him as a person, as someone that would be on their side. He and Red Alert had been through a lot together. Faced down dark memories and even darker emotions. They had built up some walls and torn others down. Together they had analyzed the actions and behavior of others as well as themselves. You couldn't see a mech discuss the deepest part of themselves on a regular basis without becoming close. Perhaps closer than professionally prudent.

Rung considered him a friend, even though he shouldn't. It had been a long lonely war, and the soldiers weren't the only ones that were weary.

"You should get in now." Red Alert bent down to turn the nozzles back off.

"Ah, alright." Rung carefully eased a pede into the liquid and suddenly lost balance , nearly falling the rest of the way in. Thankfully Red managed to catch him before he did.

"Are your gyros malfunctioning?" he asked.

"It's just the pain- don't worry," Rung replied sheepishly. Red Alert frowned again, obviously worrying despite his assurances, but said nothing, instead helping him the rest of the way down into the oil. The warm liquid seeped around metal and wires, lubricating joints and loosening debris. It was soothing, in some unexplainable way.

His spark constricted unhappily and his head throbbed in response. Not soothing enough, evidently. Still, he eased down, letting the oil envelope him completely, pressing against his sensors. His chemoreceptors analyzed the composition of the oil while his audials detected the scrambled vibrations as he moved. He looked up. Red Alert was watching him. The light shifted and rippled as it hit the oil, distorting his face. His optics recalibrated to compensate for the dense medium and Red's face became clearer. He still looked concerned, but also uncharacteristically calm. Rung couldn't help but smile up at him, despite the pain that shot down the back of his head into his neck cables. The oil flowed into his mouth, where it was analyzed and rejected from acceptance into his fuel tanks. Red smiled back. Rung didn't think that he'd ever seen him smile so much in such a short period of time.

Sudden pain stabbed behind his optics and he flinched, rippling the oil. The liquid rushed and pushed against his audials and optics. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, he stood, pushing his head and shoulders up above the surface. The oil splashed and dripped down him and he flinched again, the noise too loud and sudden.

Red Alert studied him carefully before speaking, "There is a seat, for smaller models."

"Y-yes, of course." He waded to the edge and sat on the ledge connected to the wall of the tub. The oil came up to his neck cables, which he could feel slowly tensing from the pain. Soon his shoulders would begin hurting as well from the strain that was being put on them.

The oil lapped at the edges of the tub. He lifted his hand, and it splashed and slid down his arm. His fingers gently probed at his posterior neck cables. The pain spread and tightened as they did so, causing his shoulders to twinge. The pain dug angrily into his brain case, raking claws over the top of his head, pausing to jab at the endings and connections of his neck cables.

His optics offlined and he listened to the lights buzzing, the creaking of his plating, the gentle seep of oil and the pounding of the energon pulsing through and past his audials. A sudden scrape of metal startled him into onlining his optics again. Red Alert stood on the other side of the pool with crossed arms and a frowning mouth.

"It doesn't seem to be helping," he said gruffly

Rung's arm fell, splashing oil, splattering it in a wide arc. "I'm sorry Red," he replied helplessly. The large mech grimaced and his arms scraped against each other as they uncrossed. Rung found his gaze transfixed on the broad and familiar chest, remembering how it had felt to be held against it. Supported by strong arms, held near a warm and nurturing spark.

"I don't know what Ratchet was thinking, letting those new medics work on you. They worked with Pharma, and we know next to nothing about them."

"Red, that- that's- please stop. You know Ratchet checked over everything multiple times before I left the medbay."

Red Alert glared and opened his mouth to reply, but paused, watching Rung carefully, before subsiding. He would probably review all the recordings from the medbay again as soon as possible, but Rung was too tired to rationalize with him further and Red Alert's chest was so… shiny. The large mech turned to make his way around the pool to him. Rung shifted to keep that chest in sight.

He came closer and Rung winced as his neck cables protested the strain of looking so far up. Thankfully Red Alert knelt next to him and Rung shuddered in anticipation from his sudden proximity. He was so close- he could reach out and touch. Feel spark tendrils twine around his fingers and curl down his arm, mingling and tickling his own spark energies.

Perhaps Rung could even push his own energy across. Leap through crowded molecules up into Red Alert's body. Learn the pathways and systems that lead to the spark chamber and there be embraced and surrounded by his essence. His spark twisted restlessly inside his chest, causing another spasm of pain to wrack his circuits. He wanted so badly to be touched, his pain sated by another spark.

As if hearing his plea, Red Alert's voice rumbled, "What do you want?"

"I- could you-" his neck cables constricted, "Massage my neck?"

Red stilled, "Of course." His hand reached slowly, warily, toward him. His cool fingers gently touched and Rung had to stifle a moan. Slowly he ran his fingers around and up a single cable, just a hint of his energy flickering across. Somewhat awkwardly Red Alert shifted to cover his neck with his whole hand. The large hand completely enveloped his neck but Rung felt utterly safe. More of his spark energy came through with the larger surface area, and as the fingers gently rubbed Rung slumped in relief. More confidently, Red Alert's other hand enveloped one of his shoulders, gently massaging and caressing. The short, hesitant touches soon grew bold and protracted. They wandered over his plating from the back of his helm, curling down his neck and shoulders and gently brushed down his back. Rung arched away from the wall to allow him more access, his spark anticipating where the next touch would fall.

Oil lapped at the wall and Rung as Red Alert's hands slipped below its surface, and Rung did moan as they brushed past his tire to wrap around his waist. The hands were broad and sturdy, easily tucking into his sides and covering his stomach, where they were much closer to his pulsing spark.

Red Alert spoke up, murmuring quietly, "You're so fragile, Rung… I can't let them hurt you again."

Rung twisted around to look up at the larger mech, "I'm not a young bot Red. I can take care of myself," he said firmly.

Red Alert's faceplates contorted strangely before settling with his optics averted. "I know," he grumbled.

Rung's spark wavered unhappily, and he gently grasped one of Red's arms, "I- I like it when you help me though. It makes me feel…" Red's bright optics turned to pierce through his own and he faltered. "Feel… cared for."The broad mouth softened in its harsh line, but his optics stayed, piercing and ever watchful.

Uncertainly, Rung tugged on the arm he was grasping, "Come in with me."

The other bot stared, "In… with you?" Flustered, Rung turned back around and stood, oil splashing and sliding off of him. "You don't have to," he said quickly. Unable to resist, he peeked over his shoulder back at Red Alert. With a scrape of metal the red bot slid his legs over the edge and eased in the pool. The oil lapped at his stomach as the wave that he had made nearly swamped Rung. Despite that the small bot was beaming as he turned the rest of the way to face Red.

Slowly, carefully, a red hand reached out and brushed over Rung's forehead, then down to cover his optic, shielding the fragile plating that had been carelessly blasted through. Rung stared up at Red Alert, half his vision dark red, the other half filled with his stern expression. Blindly, he reached up and grasped the forearm and gently tugged it down so that he could see all of his face. Red's hand drifted down to curl over Rung's chest and he shivered. Spark fluttering, he leaned in to the touch, optics staring intently into Red Alert's. Red's optics flared and he lifted his other hand to gently cover the small chest. He backed up a step and Rung followed. He sat on the small ledge and Rung followed his hands to his lap. Red lifted him up to straddle his legs and impulsively Rung pressed forward so that their chests met. Suddenly swamped by swirling spark energy Rung moaned and shuddered, hand curling over Red's arms.

Blindly, Rung buried his face in Red's shoulder, focusing on the gentle, caring emotions he could now feel with the closer proximity. Red's hands were clutching him closer, and a tinge of growing arousal carried over from him to tingle at the tips of Rung's fingers and chest. Surprised, Rung pulled back to look up at him. Red was watching him, face calm even as the concerned undercurrent always present in his energies strengthened. Suddenly Rung wanted nothing more than to kiss him and soothe his worries back down. So, rising awkwardly to his knees and Red's hands helping to steady him, he gently cupped the red helm in his hands and placed his lips down on the broad lips quirked in a slight frown. They softened slightly under him and he pulled back to see Red Alert's reaction. His optics were bright, and wider in the glimpse he got before he was abruptly kissed back. He stiffened, and then relaxed, gladly accepting and responding as his optics dimmed and shut off. Their lips softly moved over each as their sparks reached out and entwined through their metal armor. Separated by a few thin layers they stretched to reach each other.

The large hands on his back began to move, rubbing and stroking over seams and plating. Rung squirmed when they brushed over his tire, sending it spinning. They paused and gently prodded it before nudging it to spin again. Rung moaned into the kiss even as Red Alert's tongue teased at his sensors. They tingled as he gently rubbed his tongue against him.

Careful to keep his chest pressed against Red's, Rung ran his hands up and down the large arms. He brushed over thick armor plating carefully crafted to leave few gaps. The tires didn't move when his fingers gently pushed against them- they must be locked down when in root mode. On his right shoulder was a missile launcher which Rung blindly mapped out. Red Alert grunted when he ran across the connectors and small wires attaching it to his body and he gently brushed against them again on his way to tempting neck cables. It was awkward, but he managed to rub and twist Red Alert's delicate neck cables while still kissing and pressing against his chest. Red shivered and arched his neck, their fans struggling to cool them when the majority of their bodies were engulfed by the warm oil and their systems were heating in excitement.

Red Alert's hand slipped down his back, across his hips and over his spread thighs. His fingers gently rubbed at seams and vulnerable wiring. Rung whimpered and squirmed, his armor being much thinner and more open than Red's. Red Alert's free hand pressed against Rung's wheel and pushed down. His axel dipped from the pressure, causing him to arch and scrape his chest against Red Alert's. As he moved Red's lips chased after his and their tongues entwined in an echo of their sparks' twisting and curling.

Rung began to squirm, scraping and rubbing his chest against Red's. The friction heated the metal and energized the spark energy flowing through it. As their sparks heated they sped up, the energy squirming and flickering against sensors, pushing emotions at each other, and rebelling against their confines. Their arousal built up on itself while stronger emotions, trust, awe and affection were exchanged.

Rung struggled to keep kissing while rubbing against the large, warm chest. Red Alert attempted to pull away and he lunged up to recapture him. After allowing their tongues to entangle themselves again Red reluctantly pulled away, pushing him back.

"Rung… Rung," he whispered. Rung stilled, watching the face above him intently.

"Will you allow me… Trust me too touch your spark?" He asked, optics staring fixedly.

"Of course," he replied without hesitation. Swiftly he executed the command to open his chest armor. His spark eagerly expanded without the barrier and warm oil flowed inside. Rung swayed slightly, as in order to reach out his spark withdrew some of itself from his extremities. Leaving them feeling colder and numb. He waited for Red to respond. When he didn't, he shifted back slightly, giving the larger mech room to move. His spark stretched out tendrils towards Red's chest and spark. It wavered over the distance, barely able to brush over the armor. Red didn't feel upset, but still he sat frozen. He felt… awed.

"You trust me so much?" Red Alert murmured.

"Of course." Rung's hands rose to hover over Red's chest. "Do you trust me?"

Silently Red's hands rose to cover Rung's own. The thick stubby fingers enfolded him in a warm embrace as two small sections on his chest snapped open. Red guided his fingers inside to lift latches and another small compartment snapped open. Inside was a mechanism which he carefully twirled. Deep inside something clicked and slowly the armor began folding and tucking away. Spark light shone out through cracks and seams as the plating moved aside to reveal the mass of shimmering blue light.

Their sparks did not wait for conscious permission but sprang out and toward each other, yanking their metal bodies forward. They cried out as they flowed into each other. Their energies melded and flickered, teased and grasped hungrily. Their solid bodies became secondary to the pleasure. The splash of oil and clang of metal as their open spark chambers met went unnoticed.

Their sparks trembled as they again felt what had been put into words: trust. Trust and a mix of emotions that just might be love. Gently they ushered each other deeper and shivered in pleasure. Old emotions burned on the edges, fear, loneliness, resentment, but also patience, conviction, curiosity.

Thoughts and memories broiled and infused their contact. They were curiously glanced at, but already they knew each other well, and instead they luxuriated and writhed in each other's core and very self. There was joy and pleasure as they entwined and pulsed in tandem.

They waited with anticipation and a hint of mischievousness as the heat and energy built, sensing each other's intention. Suddenly, as the energy reached its peak and their pulse quickened exponentially, they sprang out into each other's systems.

Previously forgotten sensors were teased and prodded into life, sending electricity racing. Delicate wires were set afire, transmitting arousal and pleasure up into processors intimately connected to their busily wandering sparks. All over ghostly touches fluttered and stroked and the energy expanded and overwhelmed their racing sparks with pleasure as they overloaded.

Their sparks lingered and caressed as they slowly, reluctantly, withdrew. His spark protested as his chest armor closed and locked it away, but at the edges Rung could still dimly sense Red Alert's protective presence ready to guard and comfort him before it slowly faded over time. Rung looked up to see Red Alert's devoted expression. Then again, perhaps their sparks would mingle again before his presence disappeared. His spark approved of the thought.


End file.
